Ghost in the Archives
by Gmariam
Summary: Owen, Ianto, and a ghost in the Archives. Sort of.
1. Part One

Part One

"Oi, teaboy! I need a new battery!"

Ianto rolled his eyes even though Owen couldn't see him; hopefully the doctor would still feel the emotion behind the gesture, though it was a good thing he couldn't read the inappropriate verbal response in Ianto's mind. "Tesco is right up the street," he called back instead.

"They don't have the right kind," Owen said, striding into the small office that lead to the archives. "I need an alien battery."

"And what do you need an alien battery for?" Ianto turned around in his chair, eyebrow raised, and gave in to his vulgar impulses. "Another alien sex toy, perhaps?"

"Singularity scalpel, you plonker." Owen held up the device he'd be working on for weeks. "It's not as bright as it used to be."

"Maybe you should set it down once in a while," Ianto suggested. "Try doing something else—paperwork, cleaning, that autopsy from last week. You know, the rest of your job." He turned back to his computer, determined to ignore the doctor. He'd already spent a disproportionate amount of time trying to track down any information he could about the device, including the bloody operating manual Owen insisted must exist somewhere.

"I'm trying to understand something that could be a potentially life-saving device," Owen said. "What if it's your life? You want to die because the battery ran out?"

"How do you know it runs on batteries?" Ianto asked, ignoring the hypothetical question. It was never wise to theorize about death by Torchwood. "Maybe there's another energy source."

"I'm not putting it out in the sun, if that's what you're thinking," Owen said. He held up the device and showed Ianto the bottom, where a metal latch appeared to hold it together. He flicked it and a panel slid open. "There's a small canister in here—awfully similar to a battery—and my guess is it can be replaced when it's run down. You know, like a battery."

"Doesn't seem very high tech," Ianto remarked. "You'd think futuristic medical equipment would run on psychic energy, micro-fusion, or a black hole drive at the very least."

"Great, where can I find some of those?"

"I'd suggest starting with the B section, for batteries."

"Hilarious," Owen said, walking past him and through the metal doorway into the stacks. "That's the one that comes after A, right?"

"Some runic systems place it after T," Ianto replied. He turned back to his desk to continue his work. "Try not to blow yourself up if you find anything. I cleaned in there last week."

"Thanks," Owen called. "Good to know where I rank around here."

Ianto didn't bother to reply and continued transferring files, pausing only to talk to Jack on the comms about a rift alert. He'd scanned a year's worth of old paper records and was now tagging them by keyword so they could find information quicker when they needed it. It was tedious, but it was something he'd needed to do for so long that he was looking forward to finishing and crossing it off his list. Assuming Owen didn't bellow for help at any moment. Ianto heard a crash, followed by a particularly virulent curse, some muttering, and silence. Then—

"Ianto!" And there it was. Ianto leaned back and stretched.

"Did you forget the alphabet?" he called. "Or are you lost? Shall I send in a rescue party?"

"No, send yourself," Owen said. "I think I saw something odd."

"It's the Torchwood archives, define odd."

"Vague shadowy figure?" Owen replied, standing in the doorway. "White. Floating."

Ianto turned around again and made sure Owen saw him roll his eyes this time. "Ah, ghoulies and ghosties and long-legged beasties."

"Sod off, I saw something."

"Did it moan and groan? Reach out for you with long, spindly fingers?"

Owen opened his mouth to reply, but there was a strange sound from behind him, rather like a moan, followed by scraping footsteps. He stepped back into the office area and closed the door halfway. "There's something alive in there," he said.

"It's the archives, not a garbage compactor," Ianto pointed out. He stood up and walked over to the doorway, looking into the main archives. "And I've never archived a space snake."

"I did an autopsy on one," Owen said.

"Well, aliens are real, ghosts are not," Ianto stage-whispered. "Need me to protect you from your over-active imagination?"

There was a loud crashing sound from somewhere amongst the shelves, and then a rustling noise. Ianto frowned, wondering what was going on. While he did not for one minute believe there was a ghost in the archives, it was entirely possible that any number of technological devices could be malfunctioning. He tried to be careful whilst working, but every so often he tangled with something he hadn't meant to tangle with. Or, as was more often the case, Owen got them both tangled: there was the language incident, and the thing with the rings, and that time they'd felt each other's every move and Ianto had almost died.

Owen flipped him a two-fingered salute. "Why don't you go check it out, if you're so brave?"

"Never said I was," Ianto murmured, listening for more noises and not to the beating of his heart. He thought he heard a chittering sound and imagined tiny feet scrambling across the stone floors. "Probably rats. I've seen some the size of small cats."

"Rats don't float in the air," Owen told him. "I know what I saw."

"Maybe it was—" Without warning a cold breeze blew through the door, and all the lights in the stacks went out.

Owen instantly tapped his earpiece. "Tosh, are you getting any funny readings up there?"

It took a moment for her to answer. "Sorry Owen, we're in the SUV. Rift alert out in Morganstown."

"Seriously? Thanks for letting us know," Owen told her.

"They called while you were ghostbusting," Ianto told him. "Well, Jack called me, anyway."

"I bet he did," Owen muttered. "Look, Tosh, we've got a major power loss in the archives."

"What?" asked Jack over the comms. "Everything okay down there?"

"The lights went out," Ianto told them through his own comm. "Probably a bad lightbulb."

"Or twenty. That all make a lot of funny noises at the same time," Owen added.

"We'll figure it out," Ianto said. "See you back here soon."

"Call us if you need anything," said Jack. "We shouldn't be too long."

There was another sound from the archives. Staring into the dark, Ianto almost imagined that there was a white light bobbing in the air down the main aisle along the wall; when he blinked his eyes a few times, it was gone.

"We have two choices here," he told Owen. "Grab a torch and look around, or head upstairs and check the readings first."

"I say we let the computer check it out," said Owen. "I don't want to walk through a ghost. That's creepy."

"There's no such thing as ghosts," Ianto said. He shut the door, just in case something had gone wrong inside, and started upstairs, Owen right behind him. "You know that as well as I do. If there's something there, it'll have a more rational explanation."

"You really don't believe in ghosts?" Owen asked, sounding skeptical. "Thought you Welsh grew up on ghosts stories, spirits haunting the moors and all that."

"That's the Bronte sisters, not the Welsh."

They walked over to Tosh's station, where Ianto started to look at various readings on the Hub, while Owen stood behind him with arms crossed, right foot tapping.

"Did you believe in them as a kid? Scared of the dark, monsters under your bed and all that?"

"Of course I did," Ianto said, half listening. "And then I grew up and started working for Torchwood. Now I believe in aliens."

"So what about all the stories out there—haunted hotels, ghostly hitchhikers, those sorts of things?"

Ianto started a new scan, to make sure their regular monitoring systems hadn't picked something up and dismissed it. He turned toward Owen while it ran. "A lot of those things can be explained by other phenomena—magnetic fields, carbon monoxide poisoning, infrasound. Even hoaxes. And we live on a rift in space-time. Think about St. Teilo's and the time shifts that they thought were ghosts. Or sometimes the residual psychic energy in an area can create echoes that are misinterpreted as ghosts, like those you picked up with the quantum transducer."

"So there's always a scientific explanation?"

"It may appear fantastical, but yes—still a rational explanation. I don't think the spirits of the dead stick around to moan and groan at us, Owen. Seems a waste of time."

"I don't know," Owen said. "I'd consider hanging around to haunt you."

"I'm both flattered and terrified," Ianto offered in his driest voice possible. He turned back to the computers. "And I'm also not picking up anything. According to this, the lights should be on, and there's nothing down there."

"I definitely saw something, and you heard it." Owen frowned. "So do we check it out to be sure, or—"

There was a loud squawk as Myfanwy circled high above them. She seemed agitated and flew lower than unusual, hissing at them as she passed. Ianto frowned and checked the monitors again; still nothing, but something was clearly bothering her.

"If you saw something, we should probably go look around. Could be something that the scanners can't pick up."

"Great," Owen muttered. "That'll make it easy to find." He walked toward the armory. "I'm bringing a weapon, just to be safe."

"What are you going to take, a proton pack?" Ianto let the sarcasm drip to the floor, but Owen stopped and cocked his head.

"Do we have one, Dr. Spengler?"

Ianto huffed, and the doctor grinned. "Come on, we've got to have something that can disrupt your so-called residual psychic energy."

They both took stun guns and went downstairs. The lights in the archives were back on, but the office felt cold, and Ianto could see his breath. It was eerily quiet as well: normally he felt the pulsing of the Rift Manipulator, heard the subtle drips of water throughout the Hub, the shuffling of whatever small things lived in the dark. Now it was only silence, and it felt wrong.

"Something is off," he murmured. "Do you hear anything?"

"Nothing," Owen whispered back. "And it's damn spooky."

"Agreed," said Ianto. He pulled out the handheld scanner he'd brought down with him and stepped into the main Torchwood archives: dozens of shelves lined with boxes, too many to count, collecting dust since 1885. The scanner showed him a completely normal room. "I'm not getting anything unusual," he said, eyes roaming the stacks. "But I can practically feel it."

"Me too."

There was a sound like a cackle, a ghostly laugh that echoed throughout the room, bouncing off the stone and brick. Owen stepped closer to him. "How can our equipment not pick up _that?_" he muttered, pointing down row G at a luminous orb hanging in mid-air and moving toward them.

Ianto unconsciously took a step backward and swore when he tripped over Owen. He was only saved from falling on his arse by the doctor gripping his arm. Hard.

"Still don't believe in ghosts then?" Owen asked as the glowing light shifted into a vague humanoid shape. There was another moaning sound. It made the hairs on Ianto's arm stand up, but it also sounded so ridiculous that he straightened up and took a step toward it, determined to show Owen that it wasn't a ghost—and that he wasn't afraid of it. A small voice in his head tried to remind him that the archives could hold any number of very real, extraterrestrial dangers, but he took another step forward anyway.

"No, I don't," he said, hoping his voice sounded stronger than he felt. "Who are you?" he asked the white light. "What do you want?"

The soft moan became another cackle as the shape grew, stretching into dozens of streams of light that reached down the row toward them. They both scrambled out of the way with inarticulate shouts. A cold wind blew past them and the overhead lights went out again—and behind them, the door to Ianto's office slammed shut and locked.

"You're fucking kidding me," Owen said as he jiggled the handle. Ianto felt like they were suddenly trapped in a bad horror movie. "It's like one cliché after another."

"Clichés all come from somwhere," Ianto told him. He pulled out the small torch he had slipped into his coat pocket and shined it on the door. It only locked from the other side, the idea being that if there were ever a situation in the archives, it would be contained if it were locked in and unable to get out. Which meant they were locked in now as well, unless they shot off the door lock, or the hinges, only—

"Can we shoot our way out?" Owen asked, obviously thinking the same thing. "Door lock? Hinges?" Behind them came the sound of rattling chains. It was unnerving, to say the least, and Ianto decided it was more like an old Victorian novel than a horror film.

"Won't work," Ianto told him. "This room was built to be virtually impenetrable. The bullet would likely bounce off and hit us on the head."

"And then we'd join our friend back there." Owen kicked at the door. There was a crashing sound from behind them, as if something fell from the shelves.

"What about that gadget that opens locked doors? The data scanner?" Owen asked. "You know where it is?"

"There are thousands of items down here, Owen," Ianto replied. "I don't know where every one of them goes. I have a computer system for that."

"So much for knowing everything about the Hub," Owen muttered.

"Well, I do know the data scanner is on my desk. Because I was using it."

"Brilliant. Any other ideas?"

Ianto tried not to sigh in frustration. Sometimes he didn't like being the one who was supposed to know everything, do everything for the team. Sometimes he wanted to be the one who didn't have a clue and was scared witless. But then, he wouldn't have survived in Torchwood this long if he didn't keep his wits about him. It was just going to be harder with Owen Harper hounding him to figure it all out.

Especially with a ghost in the archive haunting them.

* * *

Author's Note:

Happy Halloween! While this could have been one longer fic, two parts helps me edit better. Part two in a few days! Thank you for reading!


	2. Part Two

Part Two

Taking a deep breath to stay calm and not snap at the doctor, Ianto tapped his comm to call the others instead. Jack and Tosh might be in Morganstown on a rift alert, but Gwen was finalizing the flower order for her wedding. Surely if they called her, she could at least come by and let them out. "Tosh?" He tapped his earpiece again, but there was nothing. "Jack? Can you hear me?" There was nothing but static.

"So much for that option," he told Owen. "Looks like we're on our own."

"With a ghost in the darkness. Perfect."

Ianto shone his light around, not sure what he expected to see, but relieved when he saw nothing. "Maybe it'll be more like Moaning Myrtle. Lots of noise, just a little lonely."

"Or maybe it'll be the Bloody Baron and kill us both."

Ianto wasn't sure what to make of Owen's reading habits, but the sound of laughter stopped him. It was eerie, chilling, and, more than anything he'd heard so far, it made him shiver and wonder if Owen was right. He pushed the idea aside, literally stomping his foot on the ground to convince himself: there was no such thing as ghosts. And even if there was, they were Torchwood: they'd seen worse.

"Do you want to wait here or go after it?" he asked Owen.

"Are you kidding? Go after it, trapped in the archives?"

"Might get out sooner if we tried talking to it," Ianto shrugged. He didn't really believe there was anyone in the archives to actually talk to, but he knew it would rile the doctor. And he didn't want to stand around waiting for someone to let them out, so finding the cause was the best option.

"You watch too many movies, and not the right ones," Owen said. "You can't talk a psychotic ghost into simply letting us go. It's going to play with us. Haven't you ever seen _Poltergeist_?"

"That was a movie, not real life, Owen. This is not a poltergeist. It's—"

There was a tremendous crash from the other end of the room, somewhere in the lower end of the alphabet. A white figure appeared at the end of the aisle, down by row P, and it sounded like it was whispering their names.

"Creepy as hell," Owen muttered as they stood side by side against the door. The spectre zoomed toward them before it abruptly dissipated, and the lights in the archives began flashing. Somewhere, somehow, music started playing; Ianto was fairly certain it was Andrew Lloyd Weber.

"There's got to be something here in the archives causing it," Ianto said with as much confidence as he could. "Some kind of tech." He tried to think of what might cause ghost-like apparitions and uncanny noises, but came up blank; perhaps something was malfunctioning, doing something it wasn't supposed to do. "Hang on, did you drop anything? When you first went in to look for your battery?"

Owen didn't answer right away. He was staring into the dark on the other side of Ianto, where a glowing figure, draped in robes and a skeleton mask, was slowly approaching them. "Owen! Ignore it, it's not real!"

The apparition called Ianto's name, lips curling into a smile against bony cheeks. He shuddered and tried to talk himself into believing what he'd told Owen. He pulled out his stun gun as it reached out for him, long skeletal hands leaving a trail of ice along his cheek. It certainly felt real.

"Piss off!" he shouted, shoving his stun gun into the figure's chest and stunning…well, something. There was a small explosion of sparks and it was gone, leaving behind nothing but the smell of burnt sage. Ianto's arm tingled.

"Yeah, totally not real," Owen said, his breathing shallow. "What the hell was that?"

"I don't know," Ianto whispered. His heart was racing. "But the stun gun works, so that's good. It must be some kind of energy pattern. But what's creating it? Did you drop anything?" he asked again. "Bump into anything?"

"Yeah, yeah," Owen muttered. They were still pressed against the door, stun guns out as they gazed around them in watchful apprehension. "I tripped over a box and a few things spilled out. I put it all back, though."

"You tripped over—shit." Several glowing white spiders dropped from the ceiling, scuttling on the floor and up their trousers. Ianto could feel dozens of tiny legs crawling over him, and they flailed around like they were doing the tarantella, trying to throw the creatures off. Ianto hated to think what the security footage would look like when they got out.

A deep, echoing laughter filled the room as the spiders disappeared. Owen had his back pressed against Ianto now, as if they were fighting off a band of Weevils in Bute Park and not invisible spiders in the archives.

"So what was in the box?" Owen asked, as out of breath as Ianto. "You think it did this, whatever it was?"

"It was a box of tech that was labeled NIDWITS," Ianto told him. "So it's possible."

"What does NIDWITS stand for?" Owen asked. "Freaky haunted house equipment?"

"It stands for No Idea What It Is. Not my filing system," he added. "Jack started it when he took over. If he didn't recognize something, he tossed it into a NIDWITS box. There were six boxes when I started. I was putting away several things I'd found and categorized yesterday. The ones in the box were the last ones left to figure out. So maybe one of them is doing this."

There was a hissing sound from somewhere deep in the archives. Owen reached behind him and jiggled the door; nothing. "You seriously think some piece of scrap metal is causing this?"

"It could," Ianto insisted. "We experience strange things with technology all the time."

"What if it's not tech?" Owen asked. "What if it's an actual alien out to get us?"

"The Hub scans didn't pick up anything—no biological lifeforms aside from the rats. It would have sensed an alien. So no intruders."

"Then what do we do, find whatever's doing this?"

"It's better than standing around waiting for the next magic trick," Ianto pointed out. "The stun gun seems to work, so we can—"

He was interrupted as a tremendous snake, bigger than a python by far, slithered up from row M, moving toward them and hissing madly. It had fangs the size of Ianto's fingers.

"Run!" he said instinctively, and they took off down Row F, only for Owen to fall to the ground as the snake somehow caught him by the ankle and curled up around his lower leg. He screamed, trying to push it off, but his hands went right through the ethereal creature with no effect. Ianto rushed over and shocked it with the stun gun, and it dissipated into sparkles; unfortunately, Owen absorbed some of the shock as well, and when he stood, his right leg gave out beneath him.

"Bloody hell," he murmured. "This is the last time I ever come down here. I'm sending an email next time."

"Come on, let's get back to the door," Ianto said. He pulled Owen up around his shoulder and they set out back down the row. When they got to the main aisle, Owen shook his head, stomping his foot a few times to get the feeling back.

"No, we need to get to that box and find whatever's doing this."

"I thought you didn't believe me," Ianto pointed out. "Said it couldn't be tech."

"Worth a try before one of us gets—"

Ianto felt something crash into him and he fell backwards, hitting his head on the hard concrete. His gun and his torch went skidding across the floor. Above him with was a white wolf, its paws pressing into his chest as it growled and bared large fangs. Ianto could have sworn it drooled on him, but he didn't feel any wetness. And when he tried to wrestle it off, his hands went through nothing but the cold air.

"Owen!" he shouted as the ravening mouth moved closer to his throat. He did not want to chance those fangs having some sort of effect on his jugular. He rolled to his right as Owen stunned it, an explosion of light then leaving them in the dark once more.

"Well shit," said the doctor. "This is really bollocks."

"Not how I usually spend my time down here," Ianto agreed rather breathlessly. He crawled on hands and knees, patting in front of him for either his gun or his torch. "We need to get to that box." He found his torch and flicked it on, grabbed the stun gun from nearby.

"Then come on, before something else jumps out at us."

As soon as soon as Owen said it, a cackling witch flew by, rustling their hair and disappearing into the row they were walking toward. They moved carefully, back to back once more, constantly watching their surroundings. When a flood of silvery roaches appeared around their feet they kept going, stepping right through them even as they felt them crawling up their legs.

And then an enormous three-headed dog padded out of row B, snarling and forcing them to retreat into another row as it lunged for Ianto, ripping off a huge piece of his suit coat.

"How come it can touch us but we can't touch it?" Ianto asked. "It doesn't make sense."

"None of this makes sense," Owen said. "I feel like I'm on the world's worst episode of Candid Camera."

"Don't worry, I plan to delete any footage that may be recording right now," Ianto said. "The problem is that we can't grab it or push it away, our hands pass right through it. But it can knock us over, grab us—"

"Bite us," Owen added bitterly, showing Ianto a large mark on his leg. "So how do we stop it from killing us?"

"We can still stun it," Ianto reminded him. "And we get to the box and destroy it. All of it. I don't care what else is in there. Let's go."

They continued down the row, ignoring the moans, the cackles, the howling around them. It was getting louder and louder, and the sound grated on Ianto's overtaxed nerves. Turning at the end of the row, they went up the aisle opposite the door before coming to row B…and the box sitting on the floor that Ianto had been filing and Owen had knocked over. For some reason, Ianto thought for sure that it would be gone; even better, the three-headed dog had disappeared.

"Let's finish this," Owen said, taking out his pistol. He flicked the safety and lifted his hand, when a large cylinder came flying off the shelf next to him, crashing into his shoulder hard. A smaller one struck his arm, and he barely managed to keep hold of his gun. A heavy box fell from a shelf above Ianto, hitting him on the head and drawing blood, while another appeared at his knees, as if trying to trip him. Sinister laughter echoed all around them.

"Shoot it!" Ianto shouted, but Owen was batting away several pieces of tech, literally assaulting him as it flew from the shelves. Ianto dove for the box, grabbing the edge and pulling it toward him. A dozen glowing scorpions poured out and he felt the prick of a tiny stingers, like little shocks along his hands. He held tight and slid the box toward Owen. "Now!"

Owen raised his arm over his head, protecting his face, and held the gun close. He emptied the entire clip into the box while Ianto rolled away and folded in on himself to avoid any shrapnel; he still felt a metal shard graze his face, and another his leg. When the echoing blasts stopped, he pulled out of his curled-up position and looked around, only it was pitch black. And completely silent. No more glowing apparitions, no more laughter.

"Owen?" he called.

"Right here," said the doctor somewhere next to him, but sounding unsure.

"Is it gone?"

"Think so. Did I hit you?"

"Just a graze. Now we're even."

"Hardly. Do you still have that torch? We should—"

He was cut off by the sound of the door opening, and a voice calling into the dark. "Ianto? Owen? Are you all right?"

"Over here," Ianto called, sitting up and leaning against a shelf. He felt bruised and battered, and both his head and his hands throbbed. "Row B."

"Bloody batteries," Owen muttered. Ianto heard rather than saw him down sit across from him.

"I think I hate this place right now," Ianto remarked. A light appeared at the end of the row, and behind it stood Jack and Tosh, their own weapons out. Ianto glanced at Owen in the light; his face was full of dirt and scratches, with messy hair and a bloody leg, and Ianto imagined he looked the same. Between the disgruntled look on Owen's face and the confused look on Jack's face, Ianto found he couldn't hold back the laughter. It came out in a large burst, unstoppable, and Owen quickly joined him, until they were laughing hysterically on the cold floor of the archives, surrounded by the remnants of the box Owen had blown apart and whatever had been inside.

"I guess they're all right, Tosh," Jack said after a moment, putting away his gun. "We can go."

The lights came back on at that moment, highlighting the mess of row B: boxes off the shelves, tech on the floor, and debris everywhere. And of course, Owen and Ianto laughing on the floor, looking and feeling like they'd gone six rounds with a Weevil.

"Owen!" Tosh exclaimed, hurrying over to him and reaching toward his leg. "What happened?"

"Ask teaboy, because I have no idea," Owen told her. He stood gingerly, rotating his shoulder several times before looking down at his leg. "Ow."

Jack helped Ianto to stand, examining Ianto's injuries: the cut on his head, scratches and bruises everywhere, and red swollen hands. "Are you all right?" Jack asked, gently touching Ianto's hands. "What did this?"

"That was the scorpions," Ianto told him. "And Owen got a snake bite."

"There was also a wolf, a witch, and lots of spiders," Owen added. "Plus a few ghosts. You missed a good party."

"We certainly did," Jack murmured. "Any idea who threw it?"

"None," Ianto told him. "But I suspect it was something in the NIDWITS box. We destroyed everything that was left."

"Better safe than sorry," Jack said. "How did it start? Was it—"

"Can we move the post-op somewhere else?" Owen interrupted. "Like, upstairs?"

Jack nodded and they left the archives without any more questions. Ianto stopped to shut the door behind them, pausing to gaze out at the shelves, hoping it was over. Whatever had attacked them seemed to have stopped, and he only hoped it wasn't because Jack and Tosh had arrived. A permanently haunted archive was not someplace he looked forward to working. He locked the door and considered throwing away the key.

They went upstairs, where Owen gave Ianto an icepack for his head and some cream for his hands. He cleaned up his own snake bite and other cuts, then wrapped an icepack around his shoulder before returning to look at the cut on Ianto's temple. "Shouldn't need stiches," he said, before cleaning it and applying butterfly strips. Declaring them treated, he went upstairs and collapsed on the sofa; Ianto joined him. He desperately wanted a coffee, or a beer, but there was no way he was standing up to get it. The familiar exhaustion of an adrenaline crash was settling in.

Jack, who had hovered over them the entire time they were in the medical bay, crossed his hands over his chest and tried to look stern. "Time to spill, gentlemen. What happened down there?"

"Hell if we know," Owen replied. "I went down there to find a battery, the next thing I know we're being haunted by Casper the not-so-friendly ghost."

"Only it wasn't a ghost," Ianto pointed out. "It had to be something in the NIDWITS box creating the apparitions."

"And the noises, and the scratches, and the bruises," Owen said. "Whatever. I am never going down there again."

Jack looked like he was struggling between a frown and a smile. "And you?" he asked, giving Ianto a raised eyebrow. "Ready to give up the archives?"

"If I did, we'd never find anything again," Ianto replied. He didn't feel like going back down to his office that day. And maybe he'd get some things done in the tourist office the next day, but the archives were his domain, and he wasn't going to let a few lights and spooky sounds scare him away. The fate of the world could depend on it.

Jack grinned. "That's the spirit." Ianto rolled his eyes in response. "Tosh, what's the computer telling you?"

"Not much," she said from her station. "There was a large burst of energy right about the time we went down there and heard the gunshots, but that's about it. A few other blips here and there. And the security cameras didn't pick up anything."

"What do you mean, they didn't pick up anything?" asked Owen. He sounded hopeful, which was exactly how Ianto suddenly felt; perhaps there wasn't evidence of their experience to share.

"Apparently, all the cameras went down. Nothing recorded but three hours of static."

Ianto sat up straighter. "Wait, three hours?" He glanced at Owen, who was also frowning. "That can't be right, we were only down there for what? Half an hour?"

"Seemed like forever," Owen muttered.

"But it wasn't," Ianto insisted. "It was almost three o'clock when you came down for your battery, and it can't be much past four."

"It's almost six," Jack told him. "We were in Morgantown for longer than we thought, but we hurried back when we couldn't get a hold of you here."

"Jack ran five red lights," Tosh stage-whispered.

Ianto knew he'd have to square it with the police in the morning, but all he could think about was their lost time. "How could we have been in there for over three hours?" he asked. No one answered, until Owen finally stood up.

"Don't know, don't care. I'm officially done with this day, ghosts and all."

"Go home, Owen," Jack told him. "We'll look into it more tomorrow."

"Oh joy," Owen muttered. He grabbed his jacket from his station and left without another word.

"Is he all right?" Jack asked, watching the doctor walk out. "He's in an awful hurry to leave."

"He was attacked by a supernatural snake," Ianto said. "He's rattled." He grimaced when he realized what he'd said, then stood up and flexed his hands, the swelling slowly going down. "And I'm rambling, so if you don't mind, I'm going to head home as well."

"I'll drive you," Jack said quickly. "Head injury and all that."

"Thanks." Ianto was glad of the company, and hoped Jack didn't mind sleeping with the lights on. Assuming he stayed.

He quickly shut down his station and grabbed his coat, looking forward to going home and forgetting all the spectral visions in the archives. A hot shower would do wonders for all the cuts and bruises. "Can we order in?" he asked Jack as they made their way to the car park after seeing Tosh out and on her way home.

"We can get whatever you want," Jack said.

"So that's what it takes," Ianto replied, and Jack laughed. "Are you staying?"

"If you'll have me," Jack replied. Ianto smirked.

"I don't think I'll even dignify that with an answer," he said.

"Want me to drive?" Jack asked. Ianto ignored him and climbed into the driver's seat. There were times when he let Jack drive—usually when he was too tired, too sore, or too drunk—but this was not one of those times.

"Five red lights? No way."

He started the car and left the car park, turning toward home. He felt Jack watching him as he drove. "What?" he finally asked. "Do I look that bad?"

"A bit banged up, yes," Jack replied. "I'm glad you're all right. I'm also wondering what you're going to call it—whatever it was that did all this?"

Ianto thought about it. "How about the spectre projector?"

Jack grinned. "Perfect. Whatever it was. It's nothing but scrap metal now."

"We should probably put it all in the incinerator tomorrow," Ianto said. "Just in case."

"That bad down there?" Jack sounded torn between teasing and concern.

"Not an experience I'd like to repeat," Ianto replied. "I've never been a fan of haunted houses. Or haunted workplaces."

This time Jack gave him an understanding look and took his hand. "How about Orsino's for dinner? Your favorite?"

"Sounds perfect."

They continued to Ianto's flat, and Jack told Ianto about their trip out to Morganstown for the rift alert. Ianto half listened, thinking about what had happened in the archives. He was grateful to have stopped it, but he hated not knowing what had caused all the strange visions and sounds. Because what if they'd missed something? What if it wasn't over?

What if it came back? Ianto didn't like sequels, and he could only hope that the spectre projector was gone for good.

* * *

Author's note:

The end! I know this isn't as deep as some of my other stories, but it was fun to write a ghost story for Owen and Ianto, and an open-ended mystery at that. It fits with some of my other stories about them, like Speaking in Tongues; Innervation; Tinker, Pirate, Captain, Spy; and Ringed. Maybe I should put them in a series. Hopefully it was an enjoyable Halloween-ish tale. Do let a girl know what you thought, please! Thank you for reading and Happy Halloween!


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